Stay with Me
by Trixy BuenaSuerte
Summary: When you know the story by heart and yet you can't stop yourself from falling for those on the death list, what do you do? Change it. Simple and easy. But, after being thrown into a world that is not her own, can one girl change the fate of the ones she loves? Rated for language (Grimmjow) violence(Nnoitra) and a twisted sense of humor(everyone, really). Set during the Arrancar Arc
1. Prologue

Prologue

"No! Don't die," I find myself yelling as I run towards the person I love most in this world and the next. His face is set in disbelief as he stands a few paces away from us and he watches as his hand disappears in front of him. I'm with him on this one.

How can this be happening?

I thought I'd have more time. Hell, I thought I'd done everything right.

I guess I've failed again.

Ironic; had it been a couple of weeks ago, I would have laughed at the idea that I would ever beg someone not to leave me. I'd grown up alone and had raised myself while my father had looked for happiness in a bottle and Mother had run out the door without a second glance. And, after all, had I not claimed that the only person I needed in my world was Luz. Had I not promised that I'd be with her forever?

And look where I am now: dimensions away from her and my life.

"Please, please," I plead as I reach him and cling to the ruined remains of his top. It's in tatters and they all but dissolve in my hands as I grip them too hard in my desperation to keep him with me. He's powered down in an attempt to prolong what is starting to look the inevitable. I know my pleading is useless but as his time with me winds down, I can't stop mumbling pleas, and as sobs tumble from my lips, his hand comes up to wipe away my free-falling tears.

"It's okay," he whispers and I'm appalled by his words. In what realm was this okay? How can him dying in my arms ever be okay especially with my—_our_ adopted daughter sobbing not too far away in Grimmjow's arms? Sure, our time together had been short and his and hers even shorter but this is something that will never be okay. How will I ever be able to get the image of him dying out of my mind?

Much less hers?

I turn to the others, rage coursing through my body as I remember that they're still here. Why aren't they helping? They fucking owe me! If it hadn't been for me, they would have died. And even though I'd gone to hell and back for them they just stand and look on like my family isn't on the line. Like my daughter's father isn't two seconds from death.

"Please heal him. Reject fate! Please," I beg and the girl with the power to do just that. To make it so it never happened looks at us with tears in her eyes but she doesn't budge or summon her powers. The strawberry looks more broken than her and there's guilt written all over his face because he knows this is his fault and I will forever hold him accountable for doing this to me, to Nel, to all of us.

And Nelliel means more to him than anyone else here save Orihime and Ishida.

But it's as my eyes lock with the eye glass wearing teen at the edge of the group who looks like he couldn't care less that a family is about to be ended that I'm hit with the truth. They can't help. We are the enemy. And even though I had promised to help them in the war we will forever be the enemy because we are _different_. We are different beings with different desires.

And the Shinigami hate different; they fear it.

Because different can be dangerous and dangerous is not acceptable. We never stood a fucking chance because I'm just a human girl who hangs around Arrancars and has managed to carve herself a family out of the shattered remains of Aizen once proud army. I'd helped them more than they will ever know but that will never change the fact that we aren't like them.

"Shh, it's okay," he shushes me but his words do nothing to ease my horror as I watch the hand that is busy wiping away my tears turn to dust faster than the first. I wrap my arms around him as best as I can and sob into his shoulder. This is it. This is where we part. In a few short days he'd become my whole world and during those days I managed to find us a beautiful daughter in the desert and now he is leaving us both.

And I don't think I can live without him.

"ULQUIORRA!"

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><p><strong>AN:**

**Chapter one is already finished and only waiting to be polished by my Editor (_beta_), Mrs. Alex Kurosaki, and should be posted up in a day or two! Hope you guys enjoy it!**

**- Trixy **

**P.S. For those who are reading this story for the first time and haven't been with me since the original, my username is only the same as the character's because I've grown a fondness for it and my OC. In no way what-so-ever is this story about me! **


	2. Rough Beginnings

**Chapter 1:**

**Rough Beginnings**

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><p><em>And here it is, as promised, the new and improved <span>Stay with Me!<span>_

_Here's to hoping you guys enjoy it as much as the original._

_— Trixy_

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><p>A sigh, quiet and longing, fills the air, mixing with the <em>tick-tock<em> of the clock and the _clash_ of metal meeting metal. And when a grunt fills the air a whoop joins it, though a yelp follows not too long after and I roll my eyes.

Really now, what's with the premature celebration? You shouldn't be shouting victory until you have your opponent on the run, or on their knees, begging for mercy...

Too sadistic for you?

Alright, I'll tone it down.

Another sigh fills the air, but this time it's from pleasure as I stretch against the cream-colored cushions and my back cracks in various places, relieving pressure I hadn't even realized had been building. The irritating _tick-tock_ still fills the air and I wonder how people can drown it out when every _tick_ sounds like a gunshot and every _tock_ like an explosion.

Seriously, I could use some advice on how to ignore it.

Why do we even have an Analog Clock in this day and age?

A yelp once again fills the air but this time it's followed by a whoop and I turn towards the television in time to see a brightly colored _'K.O.' _light the screen.

Bright, green eyes turn towards me not too long after and I quirk a brow as Luz, my best friend and roommate—of sorts—all but bounces of the walls in excitement. And I can't keep from smiling when she throws her arms in the air and her head back as she screams in joy (_satisfaction, relief_), "I did it, Trixy. I unlocked him."

My other brow goes up to join the first and I nod my head in a show of amusement even though there's nothing amusing or surprising about it because it was inevitable that she would have unlocked him.

The only thing that could have been surprising about this at all would have been whether she would have done it quickly or if it would have taken her ages. Not that I would had blamed her if it had.

Not when you have to pass the whole game _twice_ while playing as Hanataro-_fucking_-Yamada. And let's not forget that Hanataro—though cute as a button—is next to completely fucking useless. His Zanpakuto heals everything it touches, for god's sake.

How are you supposed to defeat enemies when every time you strike, you heal them?

And really what kind of twisted (_evil, sadistic)_ game programmers would make you fight _Kenpachi_ twice when the only way you can deal any type of damage is by rolling around on the floor and knocking your opponent off their feet.

Of course playing as Hanataro wasn't the only challenged she'd faced. There had also been a multitude of other characters to unlock and battles to fight before she could get him. Then there were also the episodes and costumes and having to redo the story mode multiple times and really just a ridiculous amount of things to do.

I'm more amazed she didn't throw her hands up in frustration when she realized she'd have to beat the story mode again and then the arcade mode a few more times rather than the fact that she finally unlocked him.

And just what kind of twisted game am I talking about, you ask?

Why the answer to that is _"Bleach: Shattered Blade", _featuring _Arturo Plateado_, the love child of Grimmjow and Szayel. Seriously, take one long look at him and then tell me again that I'm bonkers.

I mean, we don't see what happens away from the cameras. Hell, for all we know Grimmjow and Szayel are shacking up while Nnoitra's recoding it—for personal use, of course.

But then again I really shouldn't be surprised that she put so much time and effort into unlocking this specific character because I know just why she went to hell (figuratively) and back for him. You see, Luz is—oddly enough—in love with him.

Awkward, right? I mean what kind of sane person falls in _love _with a fictional character?

Well, you'll be surprised to know that a lot of people actually do. And, honestly—coming from a person who's in the same boat—it's not bad. It really isn't, because falling in love with a fictional character doesn't mean you're crazy; it just means you were unlucky enough to find everything you'd ever want (_need, desire_) in someone who doesn't exists.

It means that you laughed and cried, conquered and fell with them. That you followed them through their journey and then, suddenly, you realize, 'Hey, it's you…You're what makes me happy. What makes me smile and laugh and, dear Lord why can't you be real?' because somewhere along the way you fell in love.

And there's nothing more to it than that.

So, honestly, it's none of your business if we fall in love with people who don't exist. And if it bothers you then tough luck. As they say, to each their own.

So now that that's out of the way I'm sure you want to know just who Luz went through all this trouble for and if you look at the television you'll see. He stands with one hand in his pocket and the other curled into a claw with his jacket flowing majestically behind him revealing his chiseled—and badly scarred—chest.

I can't keep from grimacing in disgust as I look at him. Seriously, I don't see the attraction at all. I mean, he's rude, sexist, violent_, fucking volatile, _and an all around unpleasant person. Yet Luz can't keep herself from drooling over him.

Sad thing is, the person—well Espada really—that caught my eye isn't that much different from him. Hell, he might just be worse because, while Luz's love might be volatile, mine is completely voided of all emotion and that allows him to do incredibly messed up things without remorse or guilt.

Like I said, same fucking boat.

The clattering of a plate being place on the coffee table pulls me from my thoughts and I look up in time to catch Luz's expectant gaze as she slides a plate of freshly baked cookies across the table towards me.

"Here, my new recipe," is all she says and I study the cookies a bit apprehensively. Now, don't get me wrong, Luz is the best baker I've had the pleasure of taste testing for but sometimes she gets these ideas that sound good in context but turn out to utter disasters.

"Oh, just eat the damn things," she snaps when I do nothing but poke and prod at them. "There a new recipe I whipped up for the bake sale at Mom's job tomorrow," she says as she picks up her controller and returns to her game. "They're Cream filled…"

It's all the encouragement I need and before I can think about it, I take a bite out of the (_delicious, moist, soft)_ cookie. Moans are out my mouth before I can stop them and I devour the cookies without a second thought.

Luz shakes her head at my reaction but stays quiet as she starts her game again and begins the next round. And I watch silently as she plays because they're just something about the way she plays that can captivate anyone.

She's just so passionate and I can't pull my eyes away as I watch her duck, twirl, and swing. She's just so into it. And even though all those movements are completely unnecessary, I feel like I should get up and applaud because, god damn, that's amazing.

It's like a dance and I desperately wish she'd listened to me when I suggested she join the dance team. She has potential, she really does; but the thing about Luz is that she likes to do her own thing and make her own decision, so dance was out the window as soon as it left my mouth.

She's a good person though, if a little rough around the edges. She's one of the sweetest people you'll ever meet and she'll lend a helping hand wherever it's needed. But betray or hurt her once and you'll be wishing she'd just cut you out of her life. She holds grudges, holds them for longer than I've ever seen and I'm sure there's some hanging over our friendship.

Best friends or not.

Her next move sends her veering to the left though as she has to duck mid-twirl to avoid an attack—though, honestly all she had to do was press the little arrow on the left and _tada~ _problem solved. Papers flutter to the floor as she crashes into the coffee table and it's only because of my quick reflexes that the cookies don't meet a similar fate.

"Shit," she curses as she pauses the game to tend to the mess but I wave her off and scoop the papers off the floor. She gives me a grateful smile and goes back to her game, and I would have gone back to watching her if the tattered and torn paper hadn't caught my attention.

_I'll send more as soon as I can._

- _Dad_

It's a messy scrawl, obviously done in a hurry and I stare at the paper for long time, longer than I care to admit before crumpling it into a ball. One hundred fucking dollars. No more, no less. One hundred dollars is all I have to survive on until dear old daddy can send more money.

Now don't look at me like that, I'm not mooching off my father to pay my bills. Well, actually I am but only because I'm still a minor and it's not like I can go to school and work enough hours to support myself ever since father packed his bags and hit the road without so much as a 'goodbye' four years ago.

Four years and Mother hasn't been in the picture since before I can remember. Four years of uncertainty and wondering just where the hell he'd disappeared too. Four years of scrimping to pay board and food and anything and everything I need. Four years of working at whatever place would hire a kid. Four years of utter fucking hell and all Father can send is one hundred fucking dollars.

Of course he'd sent money before, but never enough. Every month I'd find myself going without. Without new clothes and make up, and sometimes without food. A phone? Fuck that, I'd rather eat tonight, thank you.

Standing from the couch, I make my way to the kitchen—paper still clutched in my hands—snatching up any dirty dishes I find on the way there. Once I reach the sink I have a rather large pile in my hands and I dump them in the sink carefully before moving towards the trash and tossing the paper away without a second thought.

Once upon a time I'd save these papers, hoarded them like gold and read them each night like they were holy. Once upon a time they held a promise: dreams and plans and a future. Once upon a time I'd wait each and every day by the mailbox but not now. Not anymore.

Now they're just nothing more than ink on weathered paper covered in whiskey stains. A drunken—because there's no doubt that he was drunk while writing this— man's promise and that's something you'd be stupid to believe.

I'm on autopilot as I head back to the sink and wash the dishes because my brain's too busy digging through the crap that was my childhood for that one diamond. That one moment it felt like everything was going to be alright to keep myself from self-destructing.

Sad to say there aren't many. How can there be when I was raised by an alcoholic?

Most of my memories are filled with curse words and the overbearing smell of alcohol. Still, I guess the fact that Father wasn't a drug addict as well had been a good thing. And he wasn't abusive either. Never saw him raise a hand even while piss-in-your-pants drunk. Not even when Grandpa—god rest his soul—would yell and belittle him.

No.

Father wasn't abusive and on his sober days—as few as they were—he was pleasant, kind, caring. Once upon a time father wasn't an alcoholic. He was the best father you could ask for, but once upon a time was a long time ago and now he's nothing more than the scum that ran out on his thirteen—at the time—year old daughter.

He sold the house, packed his bags, and walked out the door with nothing more than a letter left on the kitchen table telling me to pack mine and head out before the new owners arrived. Of course there had also been a long-winded explanation on just why he left along with a heartfelt apology and instructions to head over to my newly appointed guardian's house.

To say that the Guardian part had been surprising would have been an understatement. Both because it meant that my alcoholic father had dragged himself out of the bottle long enough to realize that such an arrangement would be necessary and because of just _who_ he'd chosen.

Isabel, Isabel Graves.

The wicked witch of the west—of sorts. Before that day I'd only ever heard bad things about her and a few days after moving in I realized they were all true. She's cold, standoffish, and holds a tongue sharp enough to draw blood with the wit to match. And she's anything but polite; if a bland remark isn't leaving her lips then you better watch for that carefully disguised insult.

Half the time the target of her irritation doesn't notice they're being insulted. Not until someone sits them down and cautiously explains that what might have sounded like praise is actually nothing more than a sarcastic comment meant to offend.

Really, if I hadn't been feeling so lost (_angry, confused, betrayed)_ I would have given him a round of applause. How he managed to pull it off I'll never know but I'm sure it took a hell of a lot of begging and trip down memory lane because—though it was before I was even born—Isabel was once my father's best friend.

_'Attached at the hip,'_ Grandma—may her soul find peace—would say though she never told what drove them apart. No one did. It was just something you never brought up, and even though I didn't know why, I understood that asking about it was like an unwritten taboo.

"Aren't you finished yet?"

The voice is sharp and it cuts across the room like a whip, causing me to lose my grip on a plastic plate I'd been scrubbing. I wince as it clatters rather loudly against the tile floor and ignore the perfectly plucked brow raised in my direction as I bend to pick it up.

"And you ask why we don't use the fine china."

I don't have to look to know that Isabel towers over me in all her wicked glory because that voice, cool and dripping in venom—and just so _soft_ that when you find out who owns it you get left stuck on stupid—can only belong to one person. Plus, you know, this _is_ her house. I mean, I was _just_ talking about having to move in with one of the nastiest—personality wise—people I've ever had the displeasure to meet.

"Sorry, you scared me," I say as I return to washing the dishes. "You just kind of have that effect on people, you know?"

I know I should be grateful for letting me move in with her, I really do. But I've had to put up with her attitude for four years now and I'm sure not even god himself would be able to be polite after having to deal with her shit for so long.

"Now sweetie, what have I told you about flattery?" she asks and I roll my eyes in exasperation. "It'll get you nowhere, darling," she says and I have to hold back a shiver when she drags her long manicured nails down my arm. "Now why don't you tell me how much that _magnificent_ father of yours sent this time?"

"Oh you're going to love this," I say as I rinse off the last dish and wipe my wet hands on my jeans. Reaching into my pockets I pull out five crumpled twenties and wave them in front of her perfectly curved nose. "One hundred dollars, Bel. One hundred fucking dollars," I curse and throw the money onto the counter.

"You're lying," she says almost cautiously and when I shake my head sadly she picks up the money. After counting it quickly she shoves it into her pockets and heaves an exasperated sigh. "And the father of the year award goes to…," she mumbles angrily before turning back to me.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asks and I'm not sure if she's expecting an actual answer but I shrug my shoulders just in case. "Look, I'm not _trying_ to be an out-right bitch but let's face it. I got my hands full with Luz and I don't make anywhere near enough money to support all three of us. And if push comes to shove, well, I'm going to pick my daughter over you any day."

I have nothing to say to that and I nod my head in agreement because I do agree. I can't fault her for putting her daughter over me and isn't that something?

Isabel Grave, the wicked witch of the west, is the mother of sweet little—literally—Luz.

_This could be why Luz has a tendency to hold grudges though._

"And let's face it. I'm being pushed here, Trixy, and the bills are piling up," she says and this time her soft voice doesn't feel out of place especially when she places a comforting hand on my shoulder and squeezes. "I'll talk to your father tonight. Maybe he can arrange something more…_permanent_."

She leaves after those last words and I lean against the counter and bury my head in my still damp hands. I don't blame her or hate her, I don't.

_I can't._

Because she's not doing it because she hates me or to get rid of me. She's doing it for Luz, _her daughter._ So that she'll have enough money to pay the bills, buy food, and to just be able to keep a roof over Luz's head. That's a hell of a lot more than my mother ever did for me.

I don't know how long I stay like that and it's not until an elbow gently nudges my ribs that I'm pulled out of my thoughts.

"Mom says to clean up and go to bed," Luz says all wide-eyed and curious. I give her a tight smile as I pull away from the counter. "You did the dishes already so I guess I'll mop, sweep, and get the kitchen. And you get the living room, okay?"

"Sure," I mumble and scrabble to the living room before she can voice the questions I can see shining in her eyes. I'm not sure if she heard the conversation between Isabel and me but I'd rather keep her in the dark if she didn't.

It's not something she should have to worry about anyways. Whatever happens next is between father and me—and Isabel. There's nothing Luz can do and I don't want her tearing herself up over it; I'll be doing enough of that myself.

I mean, I might have been on my own for the past four years but not completely. I had a roof over my head and—most of the times—food in my belly. Whether it was bought with my hard-earned money or 'donated' by a merciful Isabel doesn't matter.

I had a place to sleep and food to eat but I'm not sure what to do anymore because I just might not have a roof over my head anymore.

I do have a job, of course. A part-time job down at the Mom and Pop Restaurant across from school, Classic American, but it's not enough to survive. After taxes I'm lucky to make seven hundred dollars a month and you just can't live off that. Not when you have to pay board and food and bills and other necessities.

And to all of you thinking, _'Don't worry, I'm sure your father will take care of it"_ you obviously haven't been paying attention to a word I've said.

My Father's a fucken alcoholic and last I heard of him he was somewhere in Africa doing god only knows what. Things really aren't looking good right now and—other than my father—I have no one to honestly blame and that makes it worse.

I clean the living room quickly and, after I've finished, I race up stairs to take a, hopefully, calming shower before calling it a night. I can still hear Luz cleaning downstairs and, if I strain my hearing, I can hear Isabel quietly tapping away on the computer in her home office so I know I won't be disturbed as I walk into the restroom, clean clothes in hand, and proceed to take a long, piping hot shower.

Don't you just love showers? Especially long ones where you can just sit there and think? Where you can take a load off and relax? I do and as the hot water runs down my back and washes way knots of stress and exhaustion, I find it hard to keep up right.

I want nothing more than to just lay down and sleep surrounded by the warmth and comfort but I don't. Instead I scrub away the sweat and grit of a hard day's work before rinsing off and shutting the water. As soon as the water's off the comfort's gone and instead I feel stuffy as the steam hangs heavy in the air.

I towel off the excess water quickly and change into my clean clothes, wanting nothing more to leave the humid room and finally just lay down and sleep and forget all my worries if only for a few hours. It won't be better when I wake and it won't be better until I find a new place—or until father stops being an ass and finally comes home.

No, it won't be better but I can forget, just for bit, just for now, just to rest.

The walk down the hall and to my room, my dark green room—'_The forest, Trixy. The trees and the leaves and the grass, they're beautiful, baby girl. You'll see, you'll love camping'—_seems to take forever and, as the exhaustion begins to really kick in, the halls seems longer than I remember.

My vision gets hazier with every step and my mind muddled but when I finally, _finally,_ reach my room—the one at the end of the hall—I rush into the room and dive towards the bed without a thought. The bed and sheets feel like clouds against my weary muscles and I melt into them instantly.

I'm too tired (_drained, exhausted, troubled_) to do anything but fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow and maybe that's why I forgot that my sheets weren't black, that my room isn't white, and that my bed felt like anything _but_ clouds.

_TBC_

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><p><em><strong>I tried my best to get any and all mistakes but if you see any please PM me and I'll fix them. <strong>_


	3. Sanity Has Escaped

**Chapter 2:**

**Sanity has Escaped**

I'm in heaven, I have to be. Either that or I'm more tired than I realized.

I'm floating on clouds and as I clutch the soft sheets closer to my skin I moan. The feeling as the slide against my body is amazing. They're made of silk, nice expensive silk and soft feathered pillows I've only dreamed of having. Like Isabel, she has feathered pillows.

No silk sheets though or a bed made out of clouds.

Fuck, what I wouldn't give to make this fantasy into reality, to have bed made out of clouds instead of stone and feather pillows and soft silk sheets. But I can't and as much as I want to linger in between the realm of sleep and reality I have to get up for work soon.

It may be the weekend but I still have to work.

Mr. and Mrs. Hofmann, the kindly owners of Classic American, said something about a rich family booking the restaurant for a party or something and wanting all hands on deck as early as possible. And even though it's normally my day off, the extra hours really sound appealing right now.

_Will I be able to keep my job after the move?_

With a groan of utter defeat, as yesterdays worries coming rushing back with that thought, I wrench myself from dreamland and back to my harsh reality. I need to change into my work uniform, grab a bagel or something for breakfast, and high-tail my ass to work before I'm late and Mr. Hofmann sends me packing.

I _really _don't need _that._

I launch off my bed, eyes still half closed and still more than a bit asleep, because the fear of that is _very _real, and scrabble to my closet and to pull out my uniform.

I circle the room twice before I realize that something is wrong. Horribly wrong but by then all I can do is stare at the crisp white walls in contemplation. Did Isabel paint my room white well I slept as a sign for me to pack my bags and get out?

And did she steal my furniture and replace it with these tacky black ones? God, she really has no creativity when it comes to decorating. If it weren't for Luz and her love for mixing and matching and all things color, I'm pretty sure the whole house would be white on black.

Did she remodel the entire room?

Where the fuck is my closet?

I look around the room once more and only then notice that the cloud bed and silk sheets and feathered pillow weren't a part if my imagination. They're actually there, a rumpled, disheveled mess but right fucking there and I wonder how Isabel managed to switch my bed with me still on it and how she could afford such expensive bedding.

Man, when she wants to get the point across she really pulls out all the stops. I bet my entire check that my things are packed and waiting for me downstairs too. I thought she was going to talk to father before making any decisions?

Wait, this is Isabel I'm talking about. How could I forget?

Knowing her, my shit's probably half way to Africa by now. Or Mexico, depending on my father's current location I'm guessing.

I don't have time for this, god dammit!

I have to get to work soon! My internal clock is screaming that I'm late, late, late even though I'm not sure what time it actually is and there's no clock—analog or digital—for me to check. But relief washes over as I room I spot ink black curtains across the room—on the opposite side of where I remember the window being—and scrabble to them.

I'm not exactly sure what I'll find when I wrench the curtains back but I'm hoping for the foggy grey skies of an early morning and dreading the bright sunny skies that means it's past ten and I'm definitely late. Why didn't I set my alarm? Not that it would have matter since Isabel would have probably taken that too.

Still…

Again, I'm not sure what I'll find once I throw those curtains open but when I do peek outside I get stuck on stupid for what feels like _hours_.

The neighborhood's gone….

And so are the trees and grass and cars and just about everything for miles and miles.

How did Isabel pull _that_ off?

I'm beginning to think that _I'm _the one that was moved and not my stuff….Or the neighborhood because there's no way that Isabel would have been able to cover the neighborhood for miles and miles in sand. Desert sand and strange white builds that just go up, up, up, past the fluffy white clouds and bright blue skies.

_Where the fuck am I?_

The air of déjà vu hits me full force but I ignore it because, one thing's for sure, with skies that bright, I'm definitely late. Its past noon, no doubt about it, and I'm sure I can kiss my job good-bye now. Mr. Hofmann absolutely _hates_ people who are late because—to him—being late means you're lazy and he won't stand for laziness in his restaurant.

He tends to fire lazy people on the spot.

_"Son of a bitch."_

I throw the curtains close as the curse leaves my lips and dive back into the soft _(marshmallows and clouds and heaven) _bed. Might as well, since I have no idea where I am and I'd rather sleep than deal with the _(cruel, harsh, unfair)_ world at the moment.

_I'll deal with this shit when I have enough energy._

It doesn't take long for the comforts of what has to be a thousand dollar bed to lull me back into to the state of not awake but not asleep as I once again strive to forget. Just for now, just for a bit. But, just before I'm about to slip completely into the lands of dreams a loud _bang _sounds across the room.

I can only curse as I jump—startled by the noise—off the bed. Or at least I try to jump off the bed but the silk sheets stop me as they tangle around legs. Instead, I tumble off the bed in a jumbled mess of failing limbs and curses.

The crack of my head connecting rather harshly against the—weirdly—white tiled floor is deafening and any curses that I'd been about to say are forgotten because all I can think to do is moan in pain. I clutch at my head as soon as the shock wears off enough for me to move.

Dear god, that's painful.

The world spins, my head throbs, my ears ring and when I open my eyes all I can see stars. Now, I'm not weakling that will cry over a single paper cut. I'm not a stranger to pain—physical, mental, or emotional—and have a high tolerance for it after having struggled, suffered, and gotten into some many near death accidents in my life.

So if you see _me _on the floor in pain it usually means I might want to get checked over by a doctor or rushed into the hospital.

Once the world stops spinning and the stars return to space I crawl, rather pitifully, back onto the bed and curl up into a ball because my head still throbs something fierce. Man, I'll be annoyed if I do have to go to the hospital, I fucking hate hospitals.

They smell like antiseptic and sickness and death and I just can't stand the long hours waiting in the emergency room. I fucking hate waiting and being stuck in a room full of sick and wounded people all day isn't exactly my cup of tea.

"Is it still alive?"

_It?_

The distinctly male voice comes from the direction of the earlier _bang_ and I really hope he's not talking about me because—irritated and hurting as I am—I won't hesitate to rip into him. Where the fuck are his manners?

Didn't his mother raise him better to call a girl 'it'.

Well, he's definitely never getting laid.

Or married.

Wait, why is he just standing there instead of trying to figure out if I'll live. Not that I want to be pampered or anything but isn't it normal to at least ask if someone's okay after seeing them crack their head open on the—ridiculously—tiled floor?

_Who the fuck puts tile flooring in a bedroom anyways?_

The bed shifts next to me but I don't think I can handle moving again just yet so don't turn to look at whoever's now sitting next to me. Not until cool, strong (_ice and stone_) arms slip under me and pull me up and by then all I can do is groan in pain as the shift in elevation causes my head to throb violently.

"Ah! What the fuck, asshole," I growl out and I would have said more if my stomach hadn't begun to rebel the sudden movement. That's the thing about me; pain makes me nauseous, makes my stomach churn and makes me want to upchuck into the nearest trash can.

I try my best to curl in on myself but begin held—bridal style, I might add—doesn't really allow for it and the rocking motion of walking is doing nothing to help my queasiness. It would serve the fucker right if I threw up on him though. Teach him to touch someone without asking.

God, I can feel my skin crawl.

_I hate being touched._

"I think I'm going to be sick."

I'm not sure why I warn him but, maybe it's a good thing that I did because the rocking stops before I can taste last night's cookies again. Delicious as they had been going down, I highly doubt they'll taste the same on their way out.

Up until this point I've still kept my eyes closed but when I hear whispers erupt around me, my curiosity gets the better of me and I open my eyes to bright white and ink black. It's everywhere I look and now I'm truly starting to wonder just where I've woken up.

I've seen Hospitals with more color than this.

The ground, I've been place on the ground I realize as my gaze, hazy and a little doubled, lands once again on the white tiled floor. It feels cool and refreshing on my bare legs and I press my palms to it when the world begins to tilt dangerously.

The whispers continue around me but I can't separate the voices enough to make sense of what is being said. And it's not until I see shoes in the edge of my still blurry vision that I realize someone's standing in front of me.

"And who is this?"

The only reason I can make those words out at all is because all others die away the moment it sounds and I don't have to look up to know that they belong to the person in front of me. I still do, though, and as my eyes continue to meet white—white pants and robes—a vague sense of déjà vu hits me. But it's only as my eyes land on a red sash amongst all that white that déjà vu runs me over.

_I've seen that look somewhere…_

_'Aizen,'_ my mind whispers and before I can think much more on that a hand, soft and warm, slips under my chin and tilts my face up. My eyes lock with deep brown ones filled with curiosity and I would have batted the hand away if my whole body hadn't frozen.

If my mind wasn't screaming, _'What the fuck" _and I wasn't trying desperately to pinpoint the exact moment I'd gone batshit insane. Because there's no way, it can't be, but it is and, wow, he's hotter than I remember and shouldn't he be locked up somewhere under the soul society right now?

I mean, last I'd heard and read, he was sentenced to eighteen thousand and eight hundred years in Muken. So why is he here? Dressed in his old Lord Uniform staring down at me like I'm a bug under his shoe?

"Who are you, dear child?"

Ah, okay, awkward….

I must have hit my head harder than I thought if I'm actually seeing the ex-lord of Las Noches looming over me.

"Trixy, Trixy BuenaSuerte," I finally answer when his hand begins tightens around my chin. It's a threat; everything in me is screaming that it is, so I answer before his anger can get the best of him. He always did have anger issues.

At least _I _thought he did.

But, anger issues aside, you're probably wondering what I've been blundering on about or at least really confused so let me explain. I'm currently sitting—well, kneeling actually—in front of Aizen Sosuke, the great (ex) lord of Las Noches.

Weird, isn't it?

I must have knocked a few screws loose when I hit my head. And isn't that the way to go? Knocked insane after taking a tumbled off the bed? I always thought that, when I finally lost it, it'd be because I caved from stress, or it would have been because my psyche shattered.

Somehow, multiple personalities sounds a lot more exciting than seeing Aizen.

Don't get me wrong, he's great, being all-powerful and all, but Aizen can get a tab bit annoying. What with his constant need to take over the world. I know he only attempted it once so far but I have a feeling he might just give it another go soon.

Or maybe he already did…I'm actually not sure, I stopped reading the manga after the winter war for, ah, personal reasons. Okay, I'll admit, after my, um, _love interest—_yeah let's go with that—died I couldn't really bring myself to keep reading.

There's something about your favorite character dying that can really ruin a series for you.

"And where did you find this…Ryoka, Ulquiorra?"

_Ryoka? _

That means something, something important. I know it does but give me a second to stare at Aizen in stunned curiosity because I think I just heard him say Ulquiorra. I would ask if you heard it too just to make sure I'm not going crazy but we've already established that I have.

"I found it sleeping in my private quarters."

There we go with 'it' again. Can they not tell that I'm a girl or something? Do I have to puff out my chest just so they'll be able to tell? I mean, my breast are noticeable enough if you ask me and they're not exactly hidden behind my tank top.

Wait…was that Ulquiorra just now?

"Looks like, Ulquiorra's been hiding a toy from us."

_Toy?_

I can't really decide if that's better than 'it' or not.

As Aizen's hand finally slips away from my chin I turn to look behind me. And, maybe, it's because I'm not really surprised that my sanity is now non-existent that I don't even blink at who I see behind me. Or maybe it's because all the white manages to blind me.

It's everywhere and, not for the first time, I wonder over Aizen's obvious love for the color—or lack of.

Behind me, littered across the room, stand the Espadas. From the first to the last and I stare almost dumbly as I look them over one by one. They look so healthy—so _alive_ compared to when I last saw them, beat and broken and inches away from death.

"Shit, what the hell's going on?"

It's a mumble meant for my ears along as I rub my head to sooth the building headache. I can feel a bump growing where my head met tile and I hiss as I try to rub away the pain. Doctor, I need a doctor and a bucket load of pain pills.

"I was hoping you would be able to answer that, little one," Aizen says and I turn back t o look at him as he continues, "Would you mind telling me how you got into my palace undetected?" It sounds like a request but if I know Aizen—figment of my imagination or not—nothing is request.

It's a demand and I curse under my breath when I realize that I really shouldn't be kneeling in front of this man. It shows weakness and that's something I don't think this man should think I am, because Aizen has no use for weak things.

Hold on, I thought we established that Aizen and his band of minions where just a figment my crazed mind? If anything, I should ecstatic to be hallucinating about them and do everything I've wanted to do _to_ and _with_ them. They're just an illusion, right?

Then why do I feel like if I don't stand up and hold my own I'll be incinerated on the spot or worse?

It takes of lot of strength and concentration to get to my feet and stubbornness alone is all that keeps me standing as my head begins to protest the change in elevation. I can feel myself swaying a bit but I ignore it as I meet Aizen amused gaze straight on.

He still looms over me and not for the first time I curse my short stature.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I say when he quirks a brow and I remember I've yet to answer his question. "I honestly don't know," I add when I stop something dark coming over his expression. "I just, kind of, woke up here."

_In Las Noches._

But I won't tell them I know yet.

"You're a human," Aizen says after a short pause and if my head didn't hurt enough for me _not_ to care I would have tensed as he begins to circle around me. "And yet you here, in Hueco Mundo," he continues and I'm not quite sure what to make of his words so I give the obvious response.

"Of course I'm human. What else would I be?" I ask and when Aizen turns a smirk my way I begin to think that this is all an act. Aizen was always one for dramatics and I have no doubts that he's mentally scripted just exactly how he's going to 'reveal' the existence of souls and hollows and Arrancars and just a whole bunch of shit I just don't have the patience to listen to.

"Oh, a Vizard, right? I forgot about them," I say nonchalantly and have to keep myself from smirking when Aizen pauses in his circling. "They're the human looking ones that possess the powers of an Arrancar or something like that, right?"

It's nice to know I one upped Aizen and I probably would have done a little happy dance if it weren't for my throbbing head and the hand once again gripping my chin. Aizen looms over me as he tilts my head back once more.

"Who do you work for?" he demands and I can't keep from flinching out of his grip when it tightens to a bruising grip. He only lets me go because the quick movement throws off my balance and I stumble back.

"Me, myself, and I," I growl out as I rub at my chin.

Just what I need more pain.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, it's not exactly like I can choose what I want to hallucinate about," I mumble under my breath as I continue to rub at my chin. "Believe me, if I could I'd be on beach with a margarita in one hand and a book in the other," I continue to mumble as I turn back to the crowd behind me.

What?

Margaritas are delicious, nobody can deny that.

"And you, you'd definitely be there with me," I whisper as my eyes land on my 'love interest'.

He stands tall, back straight and head high as he watches my every move while I gaze at him. He looks so alert and on guard and _not fucking dust_ that I just know that I have gone crazy. Bullshit aside, this is nice, to see him alive and well, because it chases away the images of dust and blood and pain and tears.

It lifts the weight of grief and I can't help smiling as I continue to gaze at him.

_At least hallucinations are great for something._

"This bitch is crazy."

I don't take the words as an insult, I can't because they're a fact and I won't begrudge someone for pointing them out—offensive wording or not. Instead I turn my gaze to the one who spoke and nod my head in agreement.

"Yeah, I lost my marbles sometime last night," I say as I spot Nnoitra. He looks just as healthy and alive as everyone and for some unexplainable reason it makes me smile too. It makes me _happy _to see him and Harribel and Starrk and Szayel and _god damn _all of them alive and well.

Except Luppi, who sits atop of a white pillar and almost out of sight.

I could have lived without ever seeing him again.

I hate him more than I hate useless (_Kurosaki-kun_) Orihime and her constant crying. We get it, you love him now why don't you go tell him that and quit pining after him? Seriously, it gets annoying. If you love someone just do it, go for it, confess.

Worst case scenario, they reject you and you move on.

Why live in uncertainty and anxiety when everything you've ever wanted is right there, hallucination or not? Speaking of which I got a love interest to confess to. Yeah, I know, it's an illusion but, come on, let me be happy in my delusion.

Just for a bit, just for now, just until reality comes back to bite me in the ass.

When I turn back to him, his green (_emerald_) eyes are on me and it's with a small amount of self-consciousness that I realize they never left. Though I'm pretty sure it's because I'm the most exciting—well, oddest thing to have happened.

A human appearing in the Las Noches Palace without anyone noticing?

I'd dare someone to top that.

I take careful, measured (_wobbly_) steps towards him and he watches every move even though I'm about as fearsome as a mouse. They're probably expecting me to turn out to be dangerous which is laughable if you think about it.

I'm can't even walk straight!

I'm not sure what I'll do when I reach as the nervousness begins to build up and my palms get sweating and a lump forms in my throat. But my mind is shouting , "_kiss him!_" so maybe it's a good thing that I got interrupted on my way to him.

Well, not interrupted so much as my attention is drawn to a clear crystal box and the bandaged figure in it. Wonderweiss, it's Wonderweiss before Aizen turns him into his weapon of mass destruction. Sweet baby Wonderweiss who will die at the hands of Head Captain Yamamoto—well, because of Head Captain Yamamoto's power.

"You too," I whisper and it's only then, as my hand is inches from touching the crystal box that I realize I've changed course and moved towards Wonderweiss. "I'd definitely take you to the beach and we'd build sand castles and swim and play all day, Wonderweiss."

I know he's not actually a baby but that's always been the way I've seen him.

"How do you know his name?"

Aizen's eyes are pins in my back but I ignore them as I shrug and skim my fingertips against the box. I let my fingers linger there even as I can tell Aizen's getting impatient and it's only when I hear footsteps heading in my direction that I answer.

"Somewhere, somehow, my reality is some else's fiction," I whisper as I draw away from Wonderweiss and those words feel so _right_ as I say them. It's as if they explain everything and lift whatever confusion lingers as I turn back to gaze at Aizen. "I know everyone's name, Lord Sosuke Aizen."

But this isn't reality.

_Is it?_

"And how the fuck would a _human_ know our names?"

It's the same voice from before, the one that called me crazy and bitch and a toy but the way he says human makes sound like the dirtiest curse word I've ever heard and I don't know if I should be impressed or offended. Sure, offended is the logical choice but there isn't anything logical about this.

"Shut up, Nnoitra," I hiss as I whip around to glare at him and when his eyes widen I smirk. There's just something so satisfying about catching everyone off guard that I don't think of the consequence until after I find myself restrained. "Ah! What the fuck?"

A cold hand holds my arms behind my back in a strong, unyielding grip and I can't keep from struggling even as I'm pulled into and equally cold chest. Another hand wraps around my chest and even after I see the pale white skin I don't stop struggling.

_Don't touch!_

"I will ask you again, who do you work for?"

Aizen's voice booms across the room and I can't help flinching as its super fucking scary. I've managed to piss him off and that realization alone has me pushing into the arms behind me. I'm not cowering, not really. I'm just trying to get as far away as possible from him before he blows.

"And I told you, I work for no one but myself," I growl at him and meet his glare head on even though I'm still desperately trying to back away. "So why don't you calm your tits, call off you're henchmen, and _then_ will discuss this like grown as adults."

Luz always did say I needed a brain to mouth filter and as I watch Aizen's face increase to a shade of red I've only seen on fire trucks I'm inclined to believe her. Especially when the hand holding mines turns into a bruising grip. I can hear someone snickering in the background and I'd bet my entire paycheck that it's Nnoitra.

At least I won't be dying alone.

For his part Aizen says nothing, simply nods his head at his ever loyal lap-dog and motions for me to speak. I shove his hands off me instantly, eager to break contact, and brush imaginary dust off my clothes as I stand tall. I may not legally be an adult but I can't see why Aizen would need to know that.

"How did you get here?" he asks and I meet his gaze for a minute before taking another look around the room. Everyone's got curious eyes on me and for a second I wonder how much of anything can be blamed on loss of sanity.

If I was hallucinating wouldn't I just be seeing them and not Las Noches?

"I'll tell you when I figure it out," I say and meet his gaze head on even as his eyes start to narrow.

"Who do you work for?"

"This again?" I question. "Why don't you just ask me out-right if I work for the Soul Society? Not that I do. I mean, what would the Soul Society do with a human?" I ask and I'm not really looking for an answer as I give Aizen a confused look. "And don't say Ichigo because we both know he's not exactly human, is he?"

Aizen's silence is answer enough and I nod my head in understanding. Someone with that much power can't be human. Well, they can't be a hundred percent human and while I'm not sure just exactly what he has in him I know he's at least fifty percent Shinigami. He's also part Vizard and he has the other type of power that popped up in the chapters after the war.

Can't remember what it was called though.

"What are you doing here?"

"Honestly? Turning oxygen into carbon dioxide and trying to figure out if I've really lost my marbles just from hitting my head on your _tiled _floor," I say and take another look around the room. "It's really stupid to have tile in bedrooms, you know? One fall off the bed and suddenly you find yourself in the Bleach universe talking to the almighty lord, hell-bent on taking over the world. Not exactly how I planned to spend my Saturday."

"Bleach…Universe…?"

The way Aizen says the words, slow and pronouncing every syllable as if they're from a foreign language has dread piling up in my stomach as I turn back to look at him. His face is pinched in confusion and I can feel the blood draining from my blood as I realize that he really has no idea what I'm saying.

"Yeah, Bleach. You know, the name of your, well, Ichigo's story really," I explain, desperate for him to understand but as the confused look reminds on his face I know I'm in some deep shit.

How can he not know the name of his own story?

How come everyone looks as confused as him?

_What the fuck is going on?_


	4. Decisions

**Chapter 3:**

**Decisions **

The silence is deafening, bearing in from all sides as wide eyes continue to peer at me. And isn't that something? To be surrounded by a silence so loud in front of _these_ people—Arrancars, Espadas, whatever the hell you want to call them.

They're the most obnoxious bunch of assholes (except Starrk and Harribel and Ulquiorra) ever created (imagined?) and for it to be quiet enough that I can hear my heart pounding against my chest is kind of amazing. I was under the impression that Nnoitra wouldn't shut up unless Aizen threatened him.

It's kind of unsettling really, for it to be so quiet and I clear my throat awkwardly.

"I don't know how to feel about this," I say, more to myself than them as I let my eyes once again sweep around the room. And I really _don't_ know how I feel about it. My emotions are a mix of surprise, relief, confusion, and frustration.

How is it possible that my own hallucinations don't know what the fuck is going on?

I would have expected them to mock me about getting knocked crazy and them being the first thing my mind conjures. Or something like that, I'm not really sure how hallucination work when you've lost your sanity. Actually I don't know anything about losing your mind!

Wait, strike that.

I know that Schizophrenic people can tickle themselves.

But that's useless in this situation.

My eyes continue to flash around the room, flickering from one Espada to the next until they land on Wonderweiss again. He's still in that box, cover from head to toe in gauze, waiting to be transformed into Aizen's latest minion and as I stare at him something in my mind clicks.

Luppi's still the Sexta, Wonderweiss hasn't been transformed, the Espadas are gathered—the Espada's are alive! They're not dead, not dust in the wind, at least not yet and as my eyes shift from Wonderweiss to Aizen determination fills me.

They're not dead, and it'll be over my dead body if I let them die for Aizen's doomed plans of world domination.

But how do I do it?

How do I go about making sure everyone lives?

They're fated to die, to pass on, if I save them from their destined death who's to say they won't be wipe out by something else? (Ever see Final Destination? Yes? Then you know what I'm talking about.) And, either way, will I really be able to save them all?

Wonderweiss, Stark, Harribel, and Barragan die in the world of the living at the same time—if not right after—Grimmjow, Nnoitra, Szayel, and just about everyone else dies in Hueco Mundo. How the fuck am I going to travel between the worlds fast enough to stop them all?

_It's impossible._

I can't save them all.

I have to choose.

My eyes flicker back to Wonderweiss, sweet baby Wonderweiss, who can't talk, can't express himself, can do nothing more than babble and drool because of Aizen. Aizen did—will do something to him. What was it Yamamoto said?

He said Aizen was cruel because he stripped Wonderweiss of his ability to speak and to feel. He made him into nothing more than a killing machine. There's no quality of life for him, not after what Aizen will do to him and that's something I can't stop.

My fingers once again skim across the glass and I pretend not to notice their trembling as I whisper, "I'm sorry." Because I truly am, I've given up on him already and it feels like a betrayal even though he hasn't a clue what I'm apologizing about.

And the fact that, by giving up on Wonderweiss, I'll be saving my love interest doesn't help ease the guilt.

"I interrupted something, didn't I?" I ask as I back away from the box. I make my way back to Aizen and plant myself firmly at his side. "I understand that you're suspicions of the human who appeared without so much of a 'how do you do?' but we both know I'm practically harmless," I say as I gaze at him. "And if it makes you feel better, I can honestly tell you that I hate the Soul Society too. Maybe not as much as you but I do. "

"Really?" he asks and you could read the amusement on his face from a mile away as he quirks a brow and a small half-smile graces his lips. There's something about that smile though that has me staring at him in slight confusion.

"Yeah, they've pissed me off more than once. Especially with what they did to the Quincy. I mean sure the Quincy where getting out of line but wiping out an entire race is kind of brutal, even for their standards and then there was that thing with Urahara…." I'm babbling, I know I am but there's something about that smile that's throwing me off kilter and I can't pinpoint exactly what it is.

"They didn't even let him explain, just treated him like a criminal when all he was trying to do was save Shinji and the others after you—" I cut myself off there but I know it's too late as the smile drops off of Aizen's face and his eyes go hard.

Ironically, it's then that I realize why the smile bothered me. Because it's only once it's gone that I realize it was a genuine smile—not a smirk, not a shit eating grin or fake or indulgent but a_ fucking_ smile that reached Aizen's eyes and softened them. And for some reason that scares me more than Aizen's current glaring.

Cold arms once again hold mine behind my back and I don't fight them. I can't because I'm still not over Aizen's smile. I'm stunned, completely caught off guard and I don't realize I've been forced to kneel until I find Aizen towering over me.

"How much do you know?"

I'm second away from death, I know I am but I'm not scared. At least not of my potential death. I'm scared of that smile but it's not the smile exactly but what it represented.

We forget that Aizen wasn't always like this—he _couldn't_ have always been a power crazed tyrant—and that smile? Well, that smile didn't belong to the power crazed tyrant but to the man who lost his way and for some reason that scares me more than him looming over me with every intention of ending my life.

"Everything."

Aizen stills at my response, they all do. The silence once again becomes deafening but I pay it no mind as I finally give Aizen a straight answer. No half-truths or lies or deflections or sarcastic remarks, just the honest to god truth. And he can sense that it is.

"I know about your plans, your experiments, and your betrayals. I know about Ichigo and Orihime and Chad. I know about Rangiku, Aizen," I say and I don't know if Aizen tenses because of her name or because of everything I'm telling him. "I can even tell you that I know the outcome of the war—who lives, who dies, and who wins—but what I don't know is what caused you to do this. All of this. "

You could cut the tension in the air with a knife.

The Espadas still remain quiet and I don't doubt it's because they're scared of bring their Lord's wrath unto themselves. It's kind of sad really that I'm more willingly to challenge Aizen than they are because Aizen could kill me in a second if he really wanted to.

"Let her go," Aizen finally says after a lengthy silence and the hands holding me down disappear instantly. I don't stand though; I remain where I am, kneeling in front of the Lord of Las Noches. "You…amuse me," he says as he continues to loom over me. "For that I will let your insolence go. But know this; it will only be this once, next time you shall be punished."

"Punished?"

"If you claim to dislike the Soul Society then surely you are not opposed to joining my cause?" Aizen says and all I can do is shake my head because the direction this conversation has taken has thrown me for a damn loop. _What the fuck is going on?_ "Then you should know that I, as the Lord of Las Noches, demand the up most respect. Is that understood?"

I nod even though my thoughts are still going in circles. Aizen doesn't seem to notice that he's lost me at _'amuse'_ as he steps away from me and moves to Wonderweiss without another word to me. I stay where I am, kneeling on the cool tiled-floor even as Aizen gets to work on Wonderweiss and explains to everyone what he's doing.

His words are lost to me because I'm still trying to process what just happened.

I was under the impression that Aizen hated humans so why the _fuck_ would he let a simple, powerless human into his ranks? Hell, forget the human part, since when does Aizen let insubordination—and rudeness—slide? The Aizen I know rules with an iron fist.

_What the fuck is going on!? _

The sound of shattering glass pulls me out of my thoughts and I turn in time to see the smoke dissipate.

"…tell us your name, new comrade?"

"...Wonderweiss, Wonderweiss Margela."

All eyes snap to me the instant his name is out of his mouth and I can do nothing more than hang my head because I know I just sealed my fate. I'm going to be stuck here until Aizen wrings every last drop of knowledge from me and, honestly, I can't really say anything but 'fuck'.

"Do you remember the directive I spoke to you about last month, Ulquiorra?" Aizen asks and I watch him curiously even though I already know what he's talking about. He waits for Ulquiorra's quiet conformation before he continues, "Put it into motion."

"I shall leave the details to your discretion," Aizen says after a short pause. "You may take whomever you like, though I do think it would be the opportune time to train the new recruits, don't you?" he asks and his words shock me.

I was under the impression that I wouldn't be allowed to set a foot outside of Las Noches. Or—more likely—that I would be thrown into a dungeon, never to see the light of day again. Hell, I kind of like the idea of going to Karakura Town.

Maybe, if I'm lucky, I might even catch a peek of Renji.

What?

Don't look at me like that, redheads are sexy!

"Understood," Ulquiorra voice comes out steady, pitch never wavering and no reveal of any emotions in his words and I can't help but give him a curious once over as he approaches me. Though it's only when a cold hand wraps on my upper arm and yanks me to my feet that I realize that his eyes are narrowed just a bit more than normal.

He's mad!

It's not something you would notice unless you were looking for it and I wince as he begins to drag me towards the giant double doors. Well, I definitely didn't make a good impression. I'd be mad too if some random bitch woke up in my room and then I was forced to drag her around with me.

Wait….

Hold up….

Ulquiorra's mad!

I guess the emotionless bastard isn't so emotionless after all.

"See to it that she gets a proper uniform. We can't have the Shinigami thinking we're taking hostages," Aizen adds and Ulquiorra doesn't respond. He only gives a curt nod and I got to wonder if this is his way of rebelling when he's mad. "Ah, yes. Would you go to, Grimmjow?"

The sound of his name sends a shiver down my spine and reminds me that, yes, Grimmjow is here. My eyes snap to him instantly—high above a pillar and almost completely engulfed in darkness—and what can only be described as a shit ton of unfiltered _hate_ crashes through my body.

My glare has nothing on his, I'm sure. I mean, I'm a five-foot midget and he's a six-foot one tree but that doesn't stop me from glaring at him with all I have. And why am I glaring at the blue kitty you ask? Because I hate this fucker more than I can ever express.

Because it's his fault the love of my life died.

If he'd just let Ichigo stay dead Ulquiorra would have lived!

(Yes, my love interest is Ulquiorra. If you honestly hadn't realized it before than I'd be a little concerned.)

I mean, sure, Aizen would have won the war and thousand of innocents would have died but…crap…put it that way and I sound like an out-right bitch. Grimmjow may have gotten Ulquiorra killed but he technically saved the world too….

Oh well, still hate him.

Call me selfish if you want.

I only catch Grimmjow's blue gaze for a second before I'm dragged out the door and into the halls. For once I decide to stay quiet as Ulquiorra drags me around because the grip on my arm is close to bruising. Strike that, it's close to bone crushing because I can already feel the bruises forming under his harsh grip.

It doesn't help that I bruise easily.

_You know, I'm getting tired of all his goddamn manhandling…_

No, wait. Calm down, Trixy. No need to get into a fight.

My irritation continues to build but I bite my tongue against all the sarcastic comments and insults wanting to pour out of my mouth because, well, I really do like him and it would be nice if he liked me back.

We continue down the white halls and the overabundance of it causes my head to throb. My headache is still going strong and I'm a little amazed that I managed to ignore it in Aizen's presence. Then again I was too busy trying to figure out what was going on—wait?

When did I stop thinking this was just a figment of my crazed mind?

Because it is, isn't?

Before I can think more on it I'm pulled—well, more like shove—through another door and I zone in just in time to catch myself on a bed before I can reacquaint myself with the stupid tiled-floor. And because I'm already half way on it I decide to climb onto the bed of clouds as I turn to look at Ulquiorra.

He doesn't even glance in my direction as he heads towards another door and begins to rummage through what I now realize is a closet. So I'm guessing he'll be lending me a uniform? Will it fit? I mean, I do need a little extra room in the front of the top than him….

"Wear these for now," he says as he turns back around. "We don't have time to get you a proper one." It's all he says in explanation as he places the clothes next to me. He's out the door before I can express my concern over the slight size issues and I purse my lips to keep in the curses.

_Well, fuck you too then._

With a huff I begin to undress and trade tank top and shorts of too big pants and a tight shirt. I can't even get the damn to zip over my chest no matter how much I pull and hold my breath. So it's with another aggravated huff that I rip the damn thing off and put my tank top back on.

It's black so if I wear it with the top over it I doubt anyone will notice it's not exactly part of the uniform. I look for a mirror to inspect myself and once I do I realize that the coat tails are going to have to go. They drag against the floor and just look utterly ridiculous but I can't cut them off.

Oh! I know! I take one coat-tail in each hand and tie them into a bow at the small of my back. It doesn't look fabulous but it's better than before so I turn my attention to the pants. Ulquiorra may not be as tall as Grimmjow but he's still taller than me so I have to roll them up a bit so that I won't be tripping all over the place.

With one more look in the mirror I deem myself presentable and exit the room. Ulquiorra didn't give me a pair of shoes so I guess I'll be going without. Not that I mind, I at least have some black socks on so I'll be good unless I get them wet.

Well, there's nothing that I can do.

I find myself pausing with my hand on the door knob and not for the first time I wonder what's truly going on. I can't really be in Hueco Mundo, can I? Am I really going to Karakura? I push the door open before I can come up with an answer and ignore the silence that follows as a multiple pair of eyes turn my way.

It seems Ulquiorra got his team together while I was busy changing.

I didn't really take that long, did I?

The group begins to move as I join them and I follow after them reluctantly. I know what's going to happen next, we're going to travel into Karakura town and create a distraction but they don't know that I know and it'd be nice if someone would at least explain some of the finer details of this plan.

As we walk the group mumbles amongst themselves, all of them chitter and chat except for one. He trails after us silently, right arm clenching and unclenching at his side. He's eager, impatient; he sees this as his opportunity to get revenge and it's saddening really.

I know the outcome of this mission and it's a little sad to say the Grimmjow will get the ever-living shit beat out of him.

Wait!

Hold up!

Why am I sad? And for him! That's the motherfucker that's going to get Ulquiorra killed (and technically help save the world) so why should I feel sad for the fur ball?

_Because he's just as lonely as you are._

Oh hell no, I'm not going there, not now.

I rip my gaze from him and go back to watching the rest of the group. Yammy's walking on Ulquiorra's right going on about something or the other with Luppi. Ulquiorra remains quite, gaze forward ignoring the rapidly heating debate between the two.

I zone out as I watch them, my mind drifts away and I don't react when an irritated Yammy swats Luppi away with the flick of his wrist and sends him flying my direction. It's not until I find myself tilting sideways that I realize that Luppi's coming my way and I stagger to the side—both to avoid the upcoming collision and to keep my footing.

After the danger's past and I turn to my left to find Wonderweiss still clutching onto my hand. He doesn't look back at me though. He looks forward, face blank, and I can't help but wonder how much of that is him and how much of it is what Aizen's done to him. We continue forward without a word, my hand still clutch in his and I don't fight him.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I register Luppi's irate cursing and Yammy's crackles but it's ignored. But when we reach a white door at the end of an equally white hall all noise stops and everyone enters without a word.

Inside are chairs and tables and distantly realize that this is a planning room.

On the center of the table is a map of Karakura town and we gather around it without promoting. Ulquiorra explains the details of the mission, it's purpose and who's doing what. I watch him as he talks and with a hint of anger that I realize he's not talking to us—us being Grimmjow, Wonderweiss, and me.

His gaze is focus strictly on Luppi and Yammy, never once flickering in our direction. It's also then that I realize that Wonderweiss and Grimmjow and I have been indirectly forced to sit together. I'm sandwich between the two on the other side of the table.

We've been deemed useless just because we're not Espadas.

_"God damn, he's a bigger asshole than I thought,"_ I grumble under my breath as I lean back into my chair and cross my arms. A huff to my right tells me that Grimmjow's heard me. I fight back a blush as I squirm in my seat. _"I swear he's a bigger asshole than Aizen." _

Grimmjow's cough brings a smile to my lips because I know he's hiding a laugh. Wonderweiss giggles to my left and I would have joined him if I wasn't so caught off guard.

_I thought Yamamoto said he couldn't feel emotions._

"Silence."

Ulquiorra reprimand has me sitting straighter in our seats while Wonderweiss tries to choke back giggles. Grimmjow for his part simply rolls his eyes and slumps further into his seat but stays quiet.

Ulquiorra continues the meeting once he's satisfied that we're all paying attention and all too soon I find myself once again slumping in my seat from boredom. He's got a voice that can put anyone to sleep and I probably would have dozed off if the voice to my right hadn't sent me into a fit of giggles.

_"Asshole."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: for those of you who have read this before, I'm going for a slow build—well slower than the original—this time so please don't hate me if you hate slow build! **


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